My Bloody Valentine
by RealForUs
Summary: "I made a mistake. I was naïve – I was flattered by his apparent interest and I mistakenly believed he loved me. It wasn't until after the massacre in the Accords Hall, the disaster of the Uprising, that I regretted what we had done. It was two weeks later that I realised I was pregnant." AU from near end of CoA. What if Izzy was Valentine's daughter too? What if he realised?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a multi-chaptered fic which I have already written most of. I will aim to post 2 chapters a week (on a Saturday night) as they are not very long._

 _Basically, the premise of this fic is 'what if Izzy was Valentine's daughter too?' My basis for this idea is the combination of several odd details in TMI: Izzy's eyes are described as being 'very dark' and 'almost black' – Maryse has blue eyes, Robert has blue eyes, blue eyes are a recessive allele so IGCSE Biology suggest to me that they must both be homozygous for the blue-eye allele, therefore Izzy should be too (I am aware that my science here is over-simplified and there are more complex loopholes that explain her eye colour away – but combined with the other things I think it contributes to a sound argument)…who else has 'black' eyes? Valentine. He refers to Maryse as 'my Maryse' Now, he may be referring simply to her being a key member of The Circle…but he doesn't address Luke as 'my Lucian' or Robert as 'my Robert'. There is also the fact that at the end of 'City of Lost Souls' Maryse recognises the echo of Valentine's handwriting in Johnathon/Sebastian's. The Circle met all the time, were together all the time, Valentine didn't need to send them letters – certainly not enough letters for them to become intimately familiar with his handwriting. Even if the others would have recognised a sample of Valentine's handwriting, they wouldn't have known it well enough to see the similarities in his son's penmanship – that is the recognition of someone who has studied his writing (who has received many letters and read them repeatedly…love letters?). We know how unhappily married Maryse and Robert were. Robert was distracted by the deterioration of his relationship with Michael and own increasingly unwilling involvement in The Circle. Jocelyn was plotting her betrayal and Valentine sensed or suspected this…it would have been only too easy for Maryse, arguably the most devoted of all of them – to him, to the cause – to find comfort in his arms and for Valentine to take reciprocal comfort in hers and/or use the relationship to cement her loyalty and emotionally manipulate her…_

 _I genuinely think Izzy is Valentine's daughter in the subtext of canon. This fic will explore what could have happened if Valentine had realised the truth._

 _It begins in CoA and continues through CoG. Because it's only slightly AU, what I have done is rewritten scenes that would have changed and added in extra scenes as necessary. If you know the books well, it should be obvious where the scenes fit into and/or alter the original narrative. Let me know if it's too confusing and I'll post summaries of what has happened prior to the start of each chapter to provide context. Thank you very much for reading and I really hope you like it!_

 ** _'She wasn't looking for a knight; she was looking for a sword.'_**

 ** _'Blood doesn't equal love.'_**

 **Chapter 1 - Sins of the Father**

 **Trigger Warnings: (tbh I'm not sure this chapter needs any but better safe than sorry) allusions to/implied child abuse, blackmail, discussion of child endangerment, allusions to/implied emotionally abusive relationship.**

Jace's father was a formidable man, over six feet tall with a wide chest and hard, thick arms corded with ropy muscles. His face was almost triangular, sharpening to a hard, pointed chin. He might have been considered handsome, Alec thought, but he was startlingly unlike Jace, lacking anything of his son's pale-gold god looks. The hilt of a sword was visible just over his left shoulder – the Mortal Sword. It wasn't as if he needed to be armed, since he wasn't corporeally present, so he must have worn it to annoy the Inquisitor. Not that she needed to be more annoyed than she was.

"Imogen," Valentine said, his dark eyes grazing the Inquisitor with a look of satisfied amusement. _That's Jace all over, that look,_ Alec thought. "And Maryse, my Maryse – it _has_ been a long time." There was a weight and an edge to his tone that Alec did not quite understand, but the possessive words chilled him; Maryse was independent to the point of being distant even with her family and he couldn't imagine her _belonging_ to someone the way Valentine seemed to be suggesting she had.

Maryse, swallowing hard, said with some difficulty, "I'm not your Maryse, Valentine. Not anymore."

"And these must be your children," Valentine went on as if she hadn't spoken. His eyes came to rest on Isabelle and Alec. A faint shiver went through Alec, as if something had plucked at his nerves. Jace's father's words were perfectly ordinary, even polite, but there was something in his blank and predatory gaze that compelled Alec to step in front of his sister and block her from Valentine's view. He thought he might have seen a flicker of cold amusement in the man's black eyes, but his strong features remained so totally impassive it was hard to tell. "They look just like you."

"Leave my children out of this, Valentine," Maryse said, clearly struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Well, that hardly seems fair," Valentine said, "considering you haven't left _my_ child out of this. "He turned to the Inquisitor. "I got your message. Surely that's not the best you can do?"

She hadn't moved; now she blinked slowly, like a lizard. "I hope the terms of my offer were perfectly clear."

"My son in return for the Mortal Instruments. That was it, correct? Otherwise you'll kill him."

" _Kill_ him?" Isabelle echoed, her words a perfect mirror for Alec's thoughts. "MOM!"

"Isabelle," Maryse said tightly, as Valentine's eyes flicked briefly back to her daughter. "Shut up."

Isabelle opened her mouth to protest further. Alec didn't blame her, but there had been such urgent tension in their mother's voice that he squeezed Isabelle's hand in silent warning and she closed her mouth accordingly, directing a resentful look at him even as she complied with his unspoken instruction.

The Inquisitor shot Isabelle and Alec a venomous glare between her slitted eyelids. "You have the terms correct, Morgenstern."

"Then my answer is no."

" _No?"_ The Inquisitor looked as if she'd taken a step forward on solid ground and it had collapsed under her feet. Alec was not even remotely as surprised as she seemed, but he still felt the monosyllable like a punch in the gut - one which you had anticipated without being able to dodge. It wasn't that he'd wanted Valentine to agree to the trade, the last thing he wanted was for Jace to be handed over to his so-called father (not that he could be, given he was no longer in the Malachi Configuration, but that was beside the point); it was just that seeing the man live down to his son's lowest expectations of him hurt Alec on his parabatai's behalf. There had been no bitterness in the younger boy's voice when he'd told them in Izzy's bedroom that Valentine would never go for the Inquisitor's plan, but there had been no doubt, either. He knew his life was not worth as much to his father as power was and Alec only now realised that some part of him had foolishly been hoping Valentine would prove Jace wrong – if only to break Jace of his conviction that adults couldn't be trusted and would all inevitably let him down. Alec should have known better than to expect that proof to come from the man who had instilled the mistrust in Jace in the first place. What sort of a parent cared more for glorified cutlery than his own child? That, Alec realised, was the crucial difference between Valentine and his own parents. Jace had spat out earlier that the only difference was the Lightwoods were caught and punished, but it wasn't true. The difference was that Maryse and Robert had abandoned a cause they were devoted to and surrendered to the scant mercy of the Clave because their son needed them, and that mattered more to them than all the ideology in the world.

The Inquisitor was floundering. "You can't bluff me, Valentine. I will do exactly as I threatened."

"Oh, I have no doubt in you, Imogen. You have always been a woman of single-minded and ruthless focus. I recognize these qualities in you because I possess them myself."

"I am nothing like you. I follow the Law—"

"Even when it instructs you to kill a boy still in his teens just to punish his father? This is not about the Law, Imogen, it is that you hate and blame me for the death of your son and this is your manner of recompensing me. It will make no difference. I will not give up the Mortal Instruments, not even for Johnathan."

 _His name is Jace,_ Alec thought, suddenly furious at the man who stood there and calmly stated that he would sacrifice his child for a sword and all the while called Alec's brother by a name he hated.

The Inquisitor simply stared at him. "But he's your son," she said. "Your _child._ " She sounded incredulous and almost desperate. She suddenly seemed vulnerable; Alec had never wanted to shake someone more. _He knows, you idiot. He just doesn't care. This is Valentine Morgenstern we're talking about. If you'd just listened to his son, to my mother, to someone who actually knows Valentine, you wouldn't be in this position._ He wondered how someone so embittered could be so naïve.

"Children make their own choices," said Valentine. "That's something you never understood. I offered Johnathon safety if he stayed with me; he spurned it and returned to you, and you'll exact your revenge on him as I told him you would. You are nothing, Imogen," he finished, "if not predictable."

The Inquisitor didn't seem to notice the insult. "The Clave will insist on his death, should you not give me the Mortal Instruments," she said, like someone caught in a bad dream. It was exactly how Alec was beginning to feel. He knew she was right – the Clave would follow the letter of the Law, as they always did. Valentine's aim was the destruction of everything they stood for and they would retaliate by digging their heels in and proving their refusal to bend with a teenager's blood. Alec wasn't worried about Jace dying (well, no more than he always was), he and Izzy (and, he conceded, Clary) would never let that happen; it was just that he was beginning to see a lot of running and hiding in their future and being fugitives accused of treason was not how he had wanted things to go.

The Inquisitor still seemed to be reeling with the horror of the situation she had created. "I won't be able to stop them."

"I'm aware of that," said Valentine. "But there is nothing I can do. I offered him a chance. He didn't take it." His voice was unfeeling, unflinching, and Alec felt another chill. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Jace, being raised by someone who could talk so coolly about allowing his child to be murdered when it was in his power to prevent it.

"Bastard!" Isabelle shouted suddenly, and made as if to run forward; Alec grabbed her arm and dragged her backward, holding her there. "He's a dickhead," she hissed, then raised her voce, shouting at Valentine: "You're a dickhead!"

" _Isabelle!"_ Alec covered his sister's mouth with his hand but couldn't help feeling a slight satisfaction at her crude but accurate declaration. It was exactly what he had been thinking and he almost wished Jace was there to hear Isabelle swearing at his father for him. His satisfaction faded rapidly into discomfort when Valentine, who had spared them both a single, amused glance, paused, his eyes lingering on Isabelle. He surveyed her searchingly for a moment, the derisive mirth on his face fading and distorting into an unidentifiable expression as he stared at her eyes – not making eye contact with her, as a normal person might have done, but fixing his penetrating gaze (that made Alec's skin prickle slightly all over, as though he were abruptly aware of every single hair on his body) on her dark, currently defiant, irises. Alec wrapped a protective arm around his younger sister's shoulders (although he kept his hand over her mouth in case she started hurling insults again), staring Valentine down when his eyes flicked fleetingly to him. There was something eerily familiar about his eyes, but Alec couldn't place what it was. He recognised them but they couldn't have been further removed from Jace's molten gold.

"Isabelle." Slowly, deliberately, Valentine turned to Maryse. "Not the name I would have chosen." Alec and Izzy looked between them, bemused, as Maryse sucked in a sharp breath but didn't reply. He continued softly, "She really does look just like you, except…" He didn't finish the sentence. Anybody else doing so would have seemed to trail off but Valentine Morgenstern was not the kind of man who trailed off. He had left it hanging intentionally, Alec was sure, though he himself did not understand why. His mother seemed to though, because regaining her voice she hissed, low and deadly, " _Keep away from my children, Valentine_."

The latter merely raised one eyebrow sardonically and, smoothing his features, seemingly effortlessly, back into an emotionless mask, turned again to the Inquisitor who seemed barely to have noticed the strange exchange, so consumed was she in the horror of what she had done. Isabelle glanced up at Alec questioningly but he merely shook his head, equally perplexed and trying not to let on how disconcerted he was.

"You…offered him…" The Inquisitor was starting to remind Alec of a robot whose circuits were shorting out. "And he turned you _down_?" She shook her head. Alec hoped the motion might also shake her senses or at least her composure back into place. "But he's your spy—your weapon—"

"Is that what you thought?" he said, with apparently genuine surprise, which, Alec thought, was not unreasonable really, because it had been a stupid thing to think; not because Valentine was above using his son in that way (and really, shouldn't the Inquisitor have known that a man she believed to be using his child as a weapon would be willing to sacrifice that same child on the altar of his cause?), but because his son was Jace. "I am hardly interested in spying out the secrets of the Clave. I'm only interested in its destruction, and to achieve that end I have far more powerful weapons in my arsenal than a boy."

"But—"

"Believe what you like," Valentine said with a shrug. "You are nothing, Imogen Herondale. The figurehead of a regime whose power is soon to be shattered, its rule ended. There is nothing you have to offer me that I could possibly want."

" _Valentine!_ " The Inquisitor threw herself forward, as if she could stop him, catch at him, but her hands only went through him as if through water. With a look of supreme disgust, he stepped back and vanished.

Alec released his hold on Isabelle, half-expecting her to start screaming the moment he took his hand off her mouth. She didn't. She stood beside him and stared as the Inquisitor stood, swaying slightly, her face a chalky grey-white. Maryse didn't look much better. The rigid tension in her muscles, that had been holding her together ever since the projection of Valentine entered the room, drained away the instant he left, along with most of the blood from her already pale face. She staggered slightly and both her children moved to support her, but she had already righted herself, smoothing her hair unnecessarily and apparently unconsciously, as if to give her hands something to do other than tremble.

"Mom," Isabelle began tentatively "what did Valentine mean when—"

Maryse brushed her off "Not now, Isabelle." She gestured vaguely to the Inquisitor who was staring as though transfixed at the spot where Valentine had disappeared, looking helpless and pathetic; had Alec been less angry with the woman, he would probably have found the ruthless politician reduced to such a feeble mess to be a pitiful sight. He expected his sister to argue, but to his slight surprise she accepted their mother's dismissal, possibly agreeing with Alec's opinion that what Valentine would do now posed a more pressing problem than what strange things he had said about Izzy.

"Imogen," Maryse said. There was no feeling in her voice, not even any anger – as though she had experienced so many emotions in the last few minutes that she couldn't take anymore and so had shut feelings out entirely.

The Inquisitor didn't seem to hear her. Her expression didn't change as she sank bonelessly into Hodge's old chair. "My God," she said, staring down at the desk. "What have I done?"

Maryse glanced over at Isabelle. "Get your father."

Isabelle, looking as frightened as Alec had ever seen her, nodded and slipped out of the room.

* * *

Returning barely a few minutes later, in gear and having retrieved her beloved whip, Isabelle pushed her confusion and questions about the unnerving encounter with Valentine down and focused her mind on the battle to come. That was what mattered. Anything else could be dealt with later if/when they survived the impending fight with a maniac commanding a demon army.

Alec was lurking awkwardly where she had left him. Disdainfully ignoring the dithering Inquisitor, she frowned at her brother. "Go get ready," she ordered briskly "We're sailing for Valentine's ship right away." The corner of his mouth twitched upward, though Angel knew what there was to smile about. She could only presume he was as eager to inflict grievous bodily harm on Valentine Morgenstern as she was.

"Is that for me?" He asked, indicating the _naginata_ she had picked up for Maryse – it was her mother's weapon of choice.

"Get your own!" She jerked it out of his reach and he turned, looking fondly exasperated, presumably to head to the Weapons' Room.

Instead she handed the blade to its intended recipient, who, to her surprise, pressed a fierce fleeting kiss to her forehead before spinning the _naginata_ expertly in her grasp.

"Thank you, Isabelle," Maryse said, and with one swift, fluid movement, lowered the blade so that it pointed directly at the Inquisitor's heart.

Imogen Herondale looked up at Maryse with the blank, shattered eyes of a ruined statue. "Are you going to kill me Maryse?"

Maryse hissed through her teeth "Not even close," she said. "We need every Shadowhunter in the city, and right now, that includes you. Get up, Imogen, and get yourself ready for battle. From now on, the orders around here are going to come from _me_." Izzy swelled with satisfaction and awe watching her mother put the infuriating Inquisitor in her place. She loved when her mother was, admittedly restrainedly, affectionate and intimate with her, but she also loved watching her mother being a terrifying professional as she was now. She looked magnificent – like a true Shadowhunter warrior, every line of her blazing with righteous fury. Maryse continued "And the first thing you're going to do is free my son from that accursed Malachi Configuration." Another little swell of love burst in Izzy's chest, flooding her with warmth as she heard Maryse refer to Jace as 'my son' without even thinking about it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The moment was tarnished slightly by the realisation that she and Alec were now going to have to explain the conspicuous lack of said son. Exchanging a glance with her, her older brother cleared his throat and began "Actually, there's something you should probably know…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Brothers**

 **Trigger Warnings: I'm so sorry I forgot to do this originally! (Quite) graphic depictions of violence, violence against a child, loss of physical autonomy/control**

"Isabelle look after Max." As if she needed to be told to protect her brother. He wasn't the only brother she wanted to protect though – she barely heard Alec's instruction to Sebastian, outrage that he expected her to stay here, while he risked his life out there, pounding in her ears.

"I don't want you going out there alone! Take me with you." She had meant for it to sound like an irrefutable order, but, to her frustration, her concern for Alec had made her sound almost petulant – like she used to when they were young and she would trail after her older brother, begging him to let her come on missions with him. Jace had always let her come. She wished Jace were here to make Alec see sense now.

"I'm the adult here. What I say goes." Alec's tone was even and she felt the familiar younger sibling anger at him pulling the 'older than thou' card on her, especially at a time like this, bubble up inside her. "There's every chance our parents will be coming back any minute from the Gard. The more of us here, the better. It'll be too easy for us to get separated out there. I'm not risking it Isabelle." Damn it! Why did he have to have such sensible, reasonable points? Alec's glance moved to Sebastian "Do you understand?"

Sebastian had already taken out his stele. "I'll work on warding the house with Marks."

"Thanks." Alec was already halfway to the door; he turned and looked back at Isabelle. She met his eyes for a split second. Then he was gone.

Her chest felt tight. It wasn't the first time she'd watched her brother leave, knowing she might never see him again, but it had been a long time since she'd been left behind – the age gap between them was small enough that she'd been accompanying him on most of his missions for years. Besides, this wasn't normal, localised demonic activity – it wasn't a nasty nest in an abandoned warehouse or a couple of random lesser demons hiding out in Central Park – this was the impregnable, invincible Alicante overrun with monsters she'd never even read about before. She wished again that Jace was there; she didn't like the idea of Alec going out into _that_ without his _parabatai_. It wasn't that he wasn't a great warrior in his own right, he was; it was just that _parabatai_ were always better together, that wasn't the point of being _parabatai_ , and seeing one of her brothers fighting without the other was a bit like watching one of them go into battle missing a limb.

"Isabelle." It was Max, his small voice low. "Your wrist is bleeding."

Isabelle glanced down. She had no memory of having hurt her wrist, but Max was right: blood had already stained the sleeve of her white jacket. She got to her feet. "I'm going to get my stele. I'll be right back and help you with the runes, Sebastian."

He nodded. "I could use some help. These aren't my speciality." _Well,_ thought Isabelle, _that instils confidence, no end._

She went upstairs without asking what his speciality might actually be. She felt bone-tired, in dire need of an energy Mark. She could do one herself if necessary, though Alec and Jace had always been better at those sorts of runes than she was – Alec, because he had the patience to actually practise, which she lacked, and Jace because he was seemingly innately good at everything and also because he had been doing Marks for far more of his life than either her or Alec.

Once inside her room, she rummaged through her things for her stele and a few extra weapons. As she shoved seraph blades into the tops of her boots, her mind was on Max and his huge scared eyes when he'd looked at her just now. Suddenly she didn't want him on his own downstairs with a stranger. He was a perfectly nice stranger, to be fair, but he was not her brother and she would trust Max's safety to no one else. She felt an inexplicably desperate need to be with him – to make sure he was okay and let him know he didn't need to be scared, because she was there.

She was halfway down the stairs, her stele in hand, when she sensed something was wrong. Then she heard the muffled cry from the kitchen. Her stomach clenched. "Max!" She shouted, running in the direction of his voice. It was dark in the kitchen, darker than it had been in the living room. She strained her eyes to see Max and Sebastian and caught a glimpse of a dark shadow moving against the lighter shadows. Squinting harder, she realised it was not one figure but two – a squirming little body being held in a tight grip. Max gave another stifled yelp of pain and Izzy's vision was smothered with a red haze. She had no idea what was happening, but no one hurt her baby brother. Her whip flicked out so fast even she could barely track its progress as it curled its gold tongue around Sebastian's wrist and yanked. Yelling more in shock than pain he instinctively relinquished his hold on Max, who tumbled to the floor and scrambled shakily to his feet, as Izzy snarled "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The sharp tug of her electrum must have successfully overbalanced Sebastian, because he looked up at Isabelle from the floor. His dark eyes were disconcertingly unconcerned as he surveyed her coolly – almost contemplatively. He looked mildly annoyed but not nearly as alarmed as she preferred people at her mercy to appear. Glancing down she glimpsed something still held slackly in his hand and realised on closer inspection that it was the hammer he had been using earlier. A tendril of ice wound its way down Isabelle's spine and spread into her stomach. She tightened the whip viciously. "What the _fuck_ ," she spat the word with a trembling but venomous voice, "were you trying to do to my brother? Don't you fucking touch him." She brought the 7-inch heel of her hunting boot down on his wrist, forcing him to release the hammer with a crunch of bone. His eyes flashed with rage but he didn't flinch – didn't even wince as her whip continued to draw rivulets of blood from the other wrist. They were not, she realised, just dark eyes – they were literally black.

"Fine." His tone was emotionless – almost detached, but his hard expression belied his apparent disinterest. "He can tell them what happened; that they were too late; that Valentine always reclaims what is his – though, really, they should know that by now." He was raving, Isabelle thought incredulously. He was quite possibly completely insane. It would certainly take some degree of madness to try to threaten her – which was what he seemed to be doing – while he was in this vulnerable a position.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but you're clearly a total psycho." She spat, moving her boot and bringing it down hard in the centre of his chest with a pressure that would normally have broken ribs.

She realised her mistake a fraction of a second too late.

He erupted off the floor faster than she would have believed possible – and she had fought alongside Jace. If Jace was like a cheetah when he sprang, Sebastian was a cheetah on steroids. Leg ripped out from under her, Isabelle didn't even have time to hit the floor before he had yanked her up with a vice-like grip, forcing her head back with a hand tangled in her long hair. On instinct she tried to drive her elbow up into his stomach but he caught it, in a move that shouldn't have been possible, and twisted her arm round until her breath hissed out through her gritted teeth with the pain of her contorted limb. His voice in her ear was soft, kind, almost lovely. She hadn't realised before now what a beautiful voice he had. It was so totally incongruous it made her catch her breath. "I'm sorry, Isabelle. I didn't want to do this. I'd hoped, once you worked out who I was, what we were to each other, you'd come with me willingly, but you were taking too long to figure it out. Valentine is not a patient man and nor am I."

Isabelle's fury was rising with her confusion, but so was her fear. She clamped down on it hard, as she had been taught. Fear made you weak. When facing so clearly powerful an enemy, weakness was not something she could afford. She had made a potentially fatal mistake, in underestimating Sebastian. She had thought that because he looked like a Shadowhunter, he was human, but that was apparently not the case. No human could move that fast. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Out of the corner of her eye Isabelle glimpsed Max, standing rooted to the spot with terror and bewilderment. From her hearing his shout to ending up the dire position she was in now had only taken a matter of seconds. He looked totally disorientated, his owlish glasses askew and his little face pinched and white. Her heart contracted painfully.

Without warning she felt the burn of a stele on the back of her neck. Hissing in shock she tried to rip away from the familiar, but totally unexpected, sting. Sebastian's hands held her relentlessly in place. He was pressing harder than Jace or Alec ever did and the shape of the rune he was tracing was not one she recognised.

"Max-" she choked out, urgently – needing to protect her baby brother "you need to go hide! Wait for Alec—" Her voice cut off, not of her own volition, before she could finish the hurried instruction. It felt as though her tongue had died in her mouth. She struggled to form words through lips that wouldn't move. A terrifying torpor had spread through her limbs and she felt herself go limp against her will. Her whole body was paralysed, unresponsive to her commands. Mind screaming silent, expletive laden protests, she felt Sebastian hoist her unresisting form into his arms in a sick parody of a bridal style carry.

Max's scream, shrill and desperate and young, lanced through her heart like a blade. Helplessly she watched as her brother – a nine-year old who had not even begun training – launched himself at Sebastian.

The latter backhanded him across the face. It was an almost lazy gesture, as though the little boy wasn't worth his time, wasn't worth the effort of a proper blow, but it threw Max backwards with such force that he smacked into the wall and crumpled to the floor, deathly still. Isabelle's vocal chords were paralysed but she screamed anyway – not even swear words this time: just rage and horror, as panic bubbled up in her throat and cut out any strangled sound she might have been able to make, in spite of the rune, through sheer force of will – a silent scream that went on and on and on… until the rune's full power took effect and she slid away into the merciless oblivion of unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _A/N: For the Guest who reviewed asking for an update! I am a sucker for reviews - here, have an update! (There is currently no title for this chapter because I haven't had time to think of one - I'm updating on a whim :p)_

 **Trigger Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, attempted murder**

Sebastian tossed the shattered halves of the bow aside and closed in on Alec. Alec already had a seraph blade out, glittering in his hand, but Sebastian swept it aside as Alec came at him – swept it aside and caught Alec by the throat, almost lifting him off his feet. He squeezed mercilessly, viciously, grinning as Alec choked and struggled. "Lightwood," he breathed, "I was deprived of the chance of taking care of one of you today. I hadn't expected I'd be lucky enough to get another opportunity – not once I'd already taken back from your worthless family what is mine."

He jerked backward, like a puppet whose strings had been yanked. Released, Alec slumped to the ground, his hands clawing at his own throat as though he could force air in by tearing it open. His vision, which had gone first dark and then white as he was asphyxiated, slowly returned, blurry shapes coming gradually into focus as he lay flat on his back on the hard ground, hearing his own rattling, desperate breaths alongside the deafening thudding of the blood in his ears. His screaming chest heaved as his lungs struggled to drag enough oxygen in. As the darkness teasing at the edges of his consciousness receded, it was replaced with the beginnings of fear. Now that he was no longer dealing with the primal terror of being strangled, his mind was beginning to register what Sebastian had said to him: something about trying to take care of one of the Lightwoods, and something else too, about taking back what was his…

There was a yell and then a thud, followed by a ferocious snarling. Struggling to sit up as his vision came back into focus, Alec watched with shock as Simon and Sebastian grappled on the ground, clawing at each other. He caught the flash of Simon's needle-like fangs. It must have been Simon, he realised, belatedly, who had ripped Sebastian off him. Alec felt a fleeting mixture of gratitude and shame. He forgot, sometimes – most of the time – that the boy was in fact, not just a boy at all, but a uniquely powerful vampire; with his geeky T-shirts and his baffling pop culture references he just seemed so, well, mundane. There was nothing mundane about him now, as he tore at Sebastian's flesh.

Sebastian was bleeding in several places when he finally staggered to his feet and delivered two hard kicks to Simon's rib cage. Simon doubled over, clutching his mid-section. "You foul little tick," Sebastian snarled, drawing his foot back for another blow. Alec shakily dragged himself to his feet, his breathing still coming in ragged, stabbing gasps, but before he could intervene he heard a quiet, familiar voice.

"I wouldn't."

Jace stood a few feet from Sebastian. His face was bloody, one eye swollen nearly shut, but in one hand was a blazing seraph blade, and the hand that held it was, somehow, steady. All Shadowhunters were trained to have high pain thresholds, to keep fighting even in the face of injury, but only Jace seemed unaffected by pain, only Jace fought as though he had not been injured at all. It was something that routinely inspired awe and concern in Alec in equal measure.

"I've never killed a human being with one of these before, but I'm willing to try."

Sebastian's face twisted. Alec tensed, ready to leap to protect his _parabatai_ if Sebastian moved to attack him again. Sebastian glanced down once at Simon, and then raised his head and spat. The words he said next were in a language Alec didn't recognise – and then he turned with the same terrifying swiftness with which he'd moved when he'd attacked Jace, and vanished into the darkness.

"No!" Alec heard a sharp cry from behind him and turned to see Clary crumpling weakly back to the damp grass. He was much closer to her than Jace, but the latter still reached her side first, leaning over her, looking pale and anxious. "Clary?" Jace called her name but she didn't even seem to hear him. Alec could see her eyes struggling to focus on his _parabatai's_ face.

"She hit her head pretty hard." Simon interjected. He was standing a little behind Jace, wiping strangely black-looking blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. The other hand was clutching his ribs; having seen the way Sebastian kicked him, Alec suspected at least a couple of them were broken.

Jace's hand went to his pocket, searching in vain for his stele. Before he could even finish the muttered swear word Alec had pressed his own into his brother's hand. "Use mine."

Jace shot him a brief look of gratitude before swiftly applying the glowing tip to Clary's arm. Alec could visibly see the rune taking effect as her eyes cleared, becoming more focused as she blinked up at them. "My head…"

"You have a concussion," Jace said tersely. "The _iratze_ should help, but we ought to get you to a Clave doctor. Head injuries can be tricky." He handed the stele back to Alec. Alec wished he would keep it and use it on himself, his face looked even worse up close, bruised and puffy with sticky blood congealing at his temple; but he knew it would be impossible to make Jace do anything until he was sure Clary was alright. "Do you think you can stand up."

She nodded but winced with pain as she did so. Simon helped haul her to her feet and she leant against him shakily, clearly waiting for her balance to return.

Jace, Alec saw with slight exasperation, was scowling. He suspected he knew what was coming. Apparently it was okay for Jace to risk his life by recklessly throwing himself at danger with no regard for his own safety, but the second anyone else did the same it suddenly became unacceptable. "You shouldn't have attacked Sebastian like that. You didn't even have a weapon. What were you thinking?"

"What we were all thinking." Clary still looked too disorientated to really defend her actions herself and Alec thought that someone needed to. What she had done had been stupid, yes, but it had been exactly the kind of stupid thing anyone would have done in her position. It was exactly the kind of stupid thing Jace himself would have done for her. "That he'd just thrown you through the air like a softball. Jace, I've never seen anyone get the better of you like that." It had been terrifying, one of the most terrifying things Alec had ever seen, to watch his _parabatai_ caught off-guard and literally hurled at the wall of the Gard. No one bested Jace in single combat; no demon, and certainly no Shadowhunter. It was such a fact of life that it had never even occurred to Alec to worry about Jace's safety in that kind of situation.

"I – he surprised me," Jace admitted reluctantly. He seemed slightly shaken by his own words. "He must have had some kind of special training. I wasn't expecting it."

Alec wanted to reach out and place a hand on his arm, reassure his _parabatai_ that it was alright, he didn't have to be perfect all of the time, he was allowed to be caught unawares just like everybody else – it didn't make him any _less;_ but there wasn't any time and he knew Jace would only shrug him off.

"Yeah, well." Simon touched his ribcage again, wincing. "I think he kicked in a couple of my ribs. It's okay," Clary had shot him a worried look. "They're healing. But Sebastian's definitely strong. Really strong." He looked at Jace. "How long do you think he was standing there in the shadows?"

Jace looked grim. That wasn't really the question Alec wanted answering though. He wanted to know what Sebastian was doing before he was standing there in the shadows. He had left Sebastian alone with Izzy and Max…

Jace was speaking. "Well, the Clave will catch him – and curse him, probably. I'd like to see them put the same curse on him they put on Hodge." He added bitterly. "That would be poetic justice."

Simon turned aside and spat into the bushes. He wiped his mouth again, leaving a dark smear along the pale skin of the back of his hand, his face twisting into a grimace. "His blood tastes foul – like poison."

"I suppose we can add that to his list of charming qualities," remarked Jace, and then voiced what Alec had been thinking "I wonder what else he was up to tonight."

"We need to get back to the Hall." Alec could hear the strain on Jace's face in his own voice. A barely suppressed fear he refused to give voice to was pressing on his still aching chest. Sebastian's words were ringing in his ears " _already taken back from your worthless family what is mine"._ Dread rose in his throat like bile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - Looking for a Sword**

 **Trigger Warnings: Captivity (being trapped/tied up and paralysed), references to violence against a child**

Isabelle lay on the smooth floor of the cavern and ignored the burning pain in her wrists as she contemplated her options. They were limited. The feeling was beginning to return to her calves and forearms and she could flex her hands and feet if she really tried, meaning the rune Sebastian had applied was beginning to wear off – sooner than she had dared hope - probably as a result of how hard she had been fighting it; the power would have drained faster the more it had to pour into keeping her still and silent. Reassuring though it was to regain some bodily sensation, it unfortunately did very little to help her out of her current predicament, as Sebastian had bound her wrists and ankles with an unimaginative but very effective length of rope – presumably foreseeing exactly this situation and wishing to make certain she could not get away. Her wrists were tied behind her back which meant she was lying on them and they were protesting this position very painfully indeed.

She surveyed her surroundings, hoping for inspiration for how to get the hell out of there. Based on the ceiling, which was all she could see, she deduced that she was in a circular chamber hewn from rock. Stalactites with surfaces as burnished as gems hung from the ridged, stony ceiling high above. A scant amount of weak sunlight filtered down from a hole in the stone directly above her head, a natural skylight. It was much too far above her to be a viable escape route even if she did get these ropes off and regained sufficient feeling in her limbs; it might have been an option for someone superhuman like Jace, but it wasn't going to solve any of her problems.

Stuck on her back with her hands trapped under her, Izzy's vision was limited to what was overhead. Focusing on her other senses, she tried to figure out what else she knew about her prison. The air smelled like wet rock and ashes and something else she couldn't quite pinpoint but instinctively found slightly disconcerting. The floor under her aching body was as smooth as if it had been polished – too refined to possibly be natural. She was certain that the cavern was man-made. In other circumstances this might have been interesting information, might even have provided her with some sort of helpful clue, when she was in a better state of mind; right now, however, it was basically a useless observation because it brought her no closer to freeing herself from her bonds.

The rope was cutting into her skin to the point where she was beginning to lose the feeling in her hands again, even as she regained muscle movement in her upper arms and thighs. The acute, relentless pain was becoming almost too great to ignore, but was insufficient to distract her from the terrible image playing on a loop in her mind of a tiny body hitting the floor with a dull thud, and remaining there, motionless, his glasses knocked to the side. The recollection made it difficult or breathe, let alone think. Swallowing the urge to vomit, Izzy silently pleaded, _Please Max, please be alive. Please don't be dead, baby. My baby, my brother…_

Unable to bear lying still, with only her bleak thoughts for company, Isabelle gathered all her depleted strength, drawing together what shreds the rune was no longer powerful enough to repress, and, deaf to the agony in her arms, used her shoulder and knees to force herself onto her side.

From her new position she could see that there was an arched doorway on one side of the chamber, which she presumed was the exit. The ensuing passage disappeared into impenetrable darkness and with a sinking certainty Isabelle realised that she was a very long way away from the entrance to this place; this cave was further into the rock face than she had imagined. Weaponless as she was, it would be incredibly foolhardy to attempt to navigate an unknown tunnel of unknown length that may or may not lead her out of this strange place. Reckless Isabelle may be, but she did not have a death wish and she did have to get back to Max. The skylight was starting to look like maybe it really was her best option after all.

Fruitlessly pondering the logistics of dragging herself to one of the stalagmites she could see out of the corner of her eye, so that she could try to use it to saw through the rope holding her hands behind her back at such an unnatural angle, Isabelle didn't notice the approaching footsteps until they were almost in the room.

Most of her body tensed, her core remaining disconcertingly flaccid against her will – feeling had not quite been reinstated there yet. She was glad now that she had managed to turn herself because it meant that the arrival was instantly within her sight, and she didn't have to wait for them to deign to happen to approach her as she would have done when she was flat on her back.

Some part of Isabelle suspected that she had known all along who was coming, had known who it must be – especially given what Sebastian had said back at the Penhallows'. That didn't stop the air whooshing out of her lungs when he appeared. He was so tall that he had to duck to get through the doorway. As he straightened up she recognised the distinctive white blonde hair.

Her lips shaped his name in disbelieving anger even as her vocal chords remained resolutely unresponsive. "Valentine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - Mea Culpa**

 **Trigger Warnings: Missing child, injured child, guilt/self-blame/self-hatred**

Something was wrong. The Penhallows' house was eerily quiet. The sensation of a faint, cold sickness settled itself quietly in Maryse's stomach as she took in the broken window, the half-finished protection mark on the log nailed over it. "Isabelle?" she called, willing her voice not to shake, though she wasn't sure why it mattered. There was no response and the nausea twisted her gut tighter. The beginnings of the icy perspiration of fear began to prickle her underarms. "Alec?" Nothing. "Max? Jace?" Her voice, rose, wobbling wildly now. Maryse could feel the slight hysteria bubbling under the surface of her rippling composure. Robert must have heard it too, because she felt his large hand rest softly on her arm. She didn't even reject the touch as she normally would have done, too distracted by the ominous instinct building in the base of her throat.

There were any number of reasons why her children might not be there anymore. They could have been forced to leave, to seek a safer refuge. They were probably at the Gard by now, wondering where their parents were. So why did she feel like something leaden had been dropped into the lining of her lungs? "Isabelle!?" Her voice cracked.

"Mommy?" the weak, questioning call of her youngest child sent relief and terror thundering through Maryse's veins with such power it was almost dizzying. Maxwell hadn't called her 'mommy' since he was about five.

Rushing into the dark kitchen, which was where his thin little voice had originated from, Maryse felt the crushingly strong fingers of dread tighten their stranglehold on her vital organs. "Max?" As her eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of light, she could just about make out a tiny shape huddled on the floor. Dropping to her knees, she was momentarily blinded by the abrupt illumination of the room with the glow of witchlight – Robert had pulled his out, such an obvious solution, which, in her terror, hadn't even crossed Maryse's mind.

Max was pressed in a corner, his knees drawn up to his chin and his shoulders hunched so that his body curled around something he was cradling against his chest protectively. There was a purple bruise blooming on one side of his white face. He reached out skinny arms to Maryse in the plaintive appeal of a much younger child and she automatically drew his shaking body onto her lap, carding soothing fingers through his messy hair in an unconscious gesture of comfort. Her fingers touched something sticky on the back of his skull and came away bloodstained. Biting down on the sheer panic knotting her veins and sending her racing heart into her stomach, Maryse tried to form a question even as Max started to speak, through shuddering sobs.

"I-Izzy…he took her…tried to stop…couldn't move….she couldn't move…he said…he said—" his voice choked off in a gulping sob and he tightened his grip on both Maryse's neck and the object in his hands. With a thrill of horrified recognition, Maryse realised it was Isabelle's trademark whip. "..Something about Valentine reclaiming…said I'd tell you…too late." The tearstained little boy wasn't making a lot of sense, he was virtually incoherent with distress, but Maryse had got enough of the gist of it to understand. She was vaguely aware of Robert bending down and easing Max out of her arms, the whip dropping into her lap as the nine-year old lost his grip on it. She stared at it, unseeing. Distantly she could hear her husband gently asking Max all of the questions she should have been: where Alec and Jace were, who'd taken Izzy, how long it had been, why Max was bleeding. Max must have answered but she was deaf to the meaning of his words. A strange, steely numbness had overtaken her body.

This was her fault. All her fault. _Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,_ she thought bitterly. She should have known, weeks ago, watching Valentine's predatory gaze linger on her daughter, hearing words that made sense only to her, to Maryse, who had always suspected…Even before her dark-eyed daughter was born, she had rested a hand on the gentle swell of her distended stomach, during those first lonely, aching, endless days in New York, and counted back the weeks, trying to figure it out, trying to remember, wondering. Then there had been Izzy, beautiful and talented and resembling no one but her mother; yet her eyes were so dark as to be almost black, and she had a distinctive, steely determination that seemed to be her own…or at least, it didn't seem to come from either Maryse or Robert.

She should have known this would happen, should have realised what Valentine would do with the knowledge…should have known all along whose Isabelle was.

She had known. Some part of her had always known. She should have told Isabelle, if not of her long-held suspicions, then of her newfound certainty. Maryse should have warned her daughter, put her on her guard. She had tried, many times, since the battle on the ship: standing outside the door to Isabelle's room, steeling herself to knock…to come clean; but she hadn't been able to bear to witness the betrayal and hatred she would inevitably see in her child's eyes, hadn't been able to stand the thought of her daughter, who adored her, who she shared a closeness with that she lacked in her relationships with any of her other children, reviling her for what she had done. As usual, she had been selfish. Now she was paying the price. And so were her family.

Almost without realising she was doing it, Maryse drew the golden whip into her chest as Max had done, winding it around her wrist over and over as though by keeping Isabelle's possession close, clinging to it protectively, guarding it with her own body, she would in some way be keeping her daughter safe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - All my mistakes**

 **Trigger Warnings: References to violence against a child, abduction and emotional manipulation**

 _A/N: For Clara - you asked me to update, so I have :)_

"There they are," Alec said. "Over there, by the dais. It looks like…" His voice was cut off as a tiny scruffy haired figure, still clad in grey pyjamas, burrowed through the crowd and hurled himself at Alec's midriff. He clung on for dear life. Alec returned the embrace for a second, then seemed to realise the boy was shaking uncontrollably and pulled back a little. Gently extracting himself from Max's bony arms he began "Max, what-?"

The nine-year old looked up and his face was blotchy, tears – old and new – smearing the lenses of his glasses. "He took her! Sebastian! He took Izzy!"

Jace caught his breath. He felt as though he had been run through with a blade. Max's next words felt as if someone had removed his internal organs with an apple-corer. "She stopped him killing me, but he said it was so I could tell you Valentine had reclaimed what was his and he made her go all still with a rune and she couldn't talk and I tried to stop him but he hit me and when I woke up she was gone and-" he drew in a huge, juddering breath and more tears spilled over his cheeks. He brushed them away with an impatient hand. Alec crouched down so that he was on eye-level with his little brother and began talking in a low, soothing voice, though Jace could see from the tension in shoulders and the barely visible tremors in his hands that he was fighting very hard to repress his visceral reaction. He was right next to them, but Alec's words were indistinct, drowned out by the ringing in Jace's ears. Scanning the crowd, he caught sight of the person he was looking for. He shoved past people until he reached the dais. Ignoring Robert, who was leaning against a pillar, looking blankly ahead of him - somewhat dazed, Jace strode towards Maryse.

The woman was sitting on the floor, her elbows on her knees and her head in hands. Next to her was Isabelle's whip. Jace didn't think he had ever seen the often chilly, always resilient woman look so helplessly vulnerable and had never dreamt she would let her mask of indifference and efficiency fall away in public like this. Although it did not seem as though she had so much as allowed the façade to drop as had it ripped away.

"Maryse, what's happened?" Jace demanded without preamble. "Max is saying something about Valentine, but what does that have to do with Izzy?"

Slowly, she raised her head and looked up at Jace with blue eyes, so similar to Alec's, that seemed to be on the point of shattering. He could see the fissures there, fracturing out in spidery cracks. One tiny movement and she would break into shards. Feeling an icy sense of foreboding, Jace rephrased the question. "Maryse, what does Valentine want with Izzy? Max said Valentine had 'reclaimed what was his', what claim does he think he has on her?"

Maryse's voice was incongruously strong when she answered him; she sounded almost detached, matter-of-fact. "In the Circle, we all loved Valentine, but I was his most loyal, his most faithful follower. I loved him more than any of the others. I loved him far more than Jocelyn did, though he didn't want to see it. I would have done anything for him." Jace didn't interrupt her, though he didn't understand how any of what she was saying was relevant to the abduction of her daughter. "Around the time of the Uprising, Jocelyn was pulling away from him, by that point we could all see it; even Valentine was beginning to feel the distance that had sprung up between them. Whether he suspected her betrayal, I don't know…" she trailed off for a second, caught up in the past. Picking up her train of thought she continued "At the time, I barely saw Robert. His relationship with Michael was falling apart and he was distracted. I hadn't spent any time with him for months – we only saw each other at night, sometimes not even then. Valentine, on the other hand, always had time for me, no matter how busy he was. He seemed interested in what I had to say – he seemed interested in me." She paused. A creeping sense of déjà vu was ghosting up Jace's spine like a gravity defying trickle of cold sweat. "I made a mistake. I was naïve – I was flattered by his apparent interest and I mistakenly believed he loved me. It wasn't until after the massacre in the Accords Hall, the disaster of the Uprising, that I regretted what we had done. It was two weeks later that I realised I was pregnant."

Her voice was empty, but her composure cracked on the last word. Meeting Maryse's eyes, Jace saw nothing but shame and dismay. They looked grey now, instead of blue – a stormy sea she was drowning in. "The claim Valentine thinks he has on Isabelle, is the same claim he believes he has on you and Clarissa."

Jace stumbled backwards a couple of steps, reeling. It was too ridiculous. It couldn't possibly be true. This couldn't possibly be happening again – how many secret sisters could he discover? But, through the haze of the automatic, gut reaction of disbelief and denial, he felt a spear of certainty pierce his thoughts and knew with absolute clarity that it was true. Isabelle was Valentine's daughter. Isabelle was his half-sister. Unbidden, the image of her face, complete with huge dark eyes, swam up in his mind. Her eyes were bright and held a warmth Valentine's had always lacked, but they were the exact same colour – they were even the same shape. He wondered, now, how he had missed it before.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and started. Swinging round he realised it was Alec. He hadn't heard him approach and wondered how long the other boy had been there. One look at his parabatai's shell-shocked countenance was enough to let him know that Alec had heard the key part of Maryse's confession. He was looking at his mother as though he had never seen her – or anything remotely like her – before. There was a hint of betrayal in his expression, but mostly he just looked as though someone had swung a very heavy hammer into his face.

Jace returned his own gaze to Maryse, trying to decide how he felt. The thought of her with Valentine disgusted him, but no more than the thought of Jocelyn – or anyone - with him did. In some ways it was even easier to think about – Maryse was not, after all, his biological mother. He was vaguely aware of Alec's incredulity - it was the same incredulity Clary had had when people spoke of her mother loving Valentine, choosing Valentine – but he did not share it. They didn't understand how anyone could love Valentine Morgenstern, had never seen him cast in any role other than the villain; but Jace, who had been raised in love and pain by his father, knew what it was to care for the man and knew how hard it was to make those feelings go away; after all, hate did not cancel out love. He understood very well how a young, lonely Maryse could have been drawn to his father's charisma and passion and the way he bestowed his undivided attention on whoever he was interacting with at any given moment. She had loved him once, and he had destroyed her, and now she hated him. They had that experience in common; and you never really hated anyone as much as someone you once cared about.

Shaking his head mentally, he dragged himself back to the issue at hand and heard himself ask "Does Izzy know?"

Maryse's lack of response was all the answer he needed and Jace swore viciously under his breath. He was sure Isabelle had found out by now and he of all people knew that it was not a revelation you wanted to hear from Valentine's mouth.

Suddenly Simon - who Jace hadn't even realised was there and he now saw was standing with Clary, who was holding Max's hand in a gesture the little boy had uncharacteristically not objected to – asked "Surely the real question here is how are we going to get her back?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - Living in a Star Wars film**

 **Trigger Warnings: Temporary paralysis, captivity, mention of child abuse**

"I did ask him to be gentle – not that he ever listens." Valentine muttered, sounding faintly exasperated.

Isabelle couldn't tell whether he was addressing her or talking to himself and so remained silent, the lingering effects of the rune meaning she couldn't have spoken even if she'd wanted to. He turned to her, a humourless smile curving his lips. Staring up into his face as he loomed over her, Isabelle could tell objectively that he was very handsome, but it was a cold, hard beauty and she didn't find him attractive in the least.

"Isabelle, so nice of you to join me." His tone was pleasant – nonchalant, even – as though he talked to teenagers he'd had abducted by a lunatic while they were tied up on the floor of caves all the time. For all she knew, he did.

Had she been able to, she would have spat in his face. Restricted to facial expressions, she glared at him with as much vitriol as she could muster – it was a considerable amount. This was the man who had committed countless atrocities against Downworlders and Nephilim alike. This was the man who had led her parents into treason and then abandoned them to the Clave's sentence of exile. This was the man who had abused and abandoned Jace as a child only to return and rip his life apart when he had finally started to live. Isabelle could feel loathing coursing through her like demon venom. She felt nauseous, but with anger, not fear.

"I have wanted to meet you properly for some time now."

 _Why? What interest can you possibly have in me?_ She wouldn't have given him the satisfaction of her asking even if she could have compelled her vocal chords to function. He looked as mockingly amused as though she had, however, answering the unspoken question.

"You must have realised by now, of course, why I had Johnathon bring you to me."

 _Johnathon?_ Her mind stuttered. That was Jace's name; but it was Sebastian Verlac, the Penhallows cousin, who had taken her. She wondered if Valentine was losing it a bit – the various stresses of being a total bastard who repeatedly ruined everyone's lives becoming too much for his clearly already dubious grip on sanity. She didn't have much time to ponder the issue because the total bastard in question carried on. "I had to meet you, speak to you in person, find out what you were like; if you would be less of a disappointment than Clarissa has proved."

Isabelle had no idea what he was talking about and it must have shown on her face because he raised his eyebrows and said disdainfully and very deliberately "I had credited you with more intelligence, Isabelle Morgenstern."

"Lightwood." Her voice was scratchy and hoarse – although she hadn't been able to make a noise, the repeated screaming had still strained her vocal chords. She didn't sound as forceful as she would have liked but was relieved to finally have regained the ability to speak.

"What?"

"Isabelle Lightwood, not Morgenstern."

Valentine laughed mirthlessly. "I seem to spend a lot of time quibbling with my children about their surnames."

Isabelle stared at him. "I am not one of your children."

"Maryse never told you, did she?" It was a statement, not a question. The nausea intensified sharply.

"My mother tells me everything!" She tried to spit the words but it came out as a croak, sounding much less self-assured and much more like she was trying to reassure herself than she had intended.

"Everything except who your father is." He replied smoothly. Twistedly, he appeared to be enjoying himself, though his face was so impassive it was hard to tell.

"My father is Robert Lightwood."

"Of course… Robert Lightwood who you look nothing like; who you have nothing in common with; Robert who you have never been close to…" He paused, as though for effect. Not for the first time Isabelle observed that he had rather a penchant for theatricality. "Your parents' marriage never was happy, even in the beginning. They were ill-matched. It's no wonder your mother sought attention from another quarter, in the arms of another…"

"You're lying." Isabelle hissed.

"Am I? You mustn't judge your mother too harshly…I suspect she was not certain of your parentage herself. I myself did not know. I heard the Lightwoods had had a daughter, but thought nothing of it, until that day at the Institute when I saw you. You look so like Maryse did, except for the eyes. Your mother has blue eyes and Robert does too. Did it never strike you as odd that yours were black?"

Isabelle stared up into the black eyes above her. They seemed at odds with the rest of Valentine's face and that, she realised, was because looking at his eyes was like looking into a mirror – they were precisely the same shape and hue as her own. There was scathing amusement in his eyes, but no deception. She set her jaw, but he must have seen the realisation on her face.

"You see, Isabelle, you know it's true. I am your father."

"You are no one's father!" She snarled.

His face twisted for the briefest instant before smoothing out again – like water after the ripples had dissipated – as though there had never been a disturbance. "It is regrettable that my daughters insist on responding with such hostility to the discovery of their long lost father," he remarked dryly. His words were mild but his tone was hard and his expression was too.

"Perhaps we'd respond differently if our long lost father wasn't a fanatical mass-murderer."

"Such things are all a matter of perspective Isabelle – if you and Clarissa had been raised by me, as Johnathon was, you would realise that."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that whatever my perspective I would realise you were completely mental and so would Clary" She shot back venomously "And, just so you know, Jace may have been raised with your sick ideology, but for the record, he hates you too."

She had been looking for words to hurt him with, trying to provoke some kind of reaction – break that inflexible, unyielding, controlled exterior that she had made flicker seconds before. Instead, his face remained resolutely expressionless, with only a slight sneer teasing the edge of his cruel mouth. "I was not referring to Jace."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story…I'm sorry it has been so long since I updated – I have a multitude of excuses that include exams, directing and acting in a production and a lot of shit happening in my personal life, but I know no one really wants to know about that…so on to the chapter!_ _?_

 **Chapter 8**

 **Trigger Warnings: Self-harm (not cutting), references to violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood**

Jace was kneeling on the ground beside Alec's chair, applying an _iratze_ to the hand with which Alec had punched a wall. They had all been shocked by the dark-haired boy's outburst of combined frustration at the lack of progress with finding – or even looking for – his sister and fury at their helplessness. Seeing the usually relatively subdued boy blazing with so much explosive emotion, blood dripping from ragged knuckles as he stood there, breathing hard and not even bothering to cradle his hand, which was rapidly turning blue, had been immensely disconcerting. In that moment he had resembled his volatile parabatai far more than himself.

Now, the oldest Lightwood was slumped in his seat, all fire drained away, looking strained and tired – dark hair falling into his eyes as he refused to look up at Jace, who was murmuring something that Simon couldn't quite make out. There were still livid bruises marring his pale grey skin from where Sebastian had tried to throttle him.

Max was occupying the only other seating in the room, sprawled across the whole couch, a threadbare blanket thrown over his legs and his hand trailing on the floor; at some point, someone had removed his glasses. It had taken hours to calm the hysterical little boy down sufficiently to get him to fall asleep, but when he had, he had been out like a light – overwhelmed with sheer exhaustion. He had fallen asleep at the table, in the middle of the fifth of the six very repetitive arguments they'd had about Isabelle so far, and Jace had scooped him up before he could knock over any more of the empty coffee cups and carried him into the living room when they reconvened.

The sixth argument was still in progress, although there had been a temporary lull caused by Alec's unexpected assault on the wall. Simon glanced over at Clary, who was sitting with her back pressed against Max's armchair, her open sketchbook balanced on her knee. She had been trying to draw a map of Idris, marking on possible places Sebastian may have taken Izzy. So far, everything that had been marked on had been erased almost immediately. She must have sensed Simon's eyes on her because she glanced up and made a feeble effort to smile. He returned it weakly. The others were running on caffeine and energy runes, he had neither of these things and was in increasingly urgent need of blood. Trying to push down both the burning thirst and his mess of emotions regarding Isabelle Lightwood, Simon opened his mouth to reiterate a suggestion he was pretty sure had already been rejected – though he was too drained to remember why – when there was a loud knock on the door.

With a frown Clary set her sketchbook down. "I'll get it."

The open door let in a wave of cold, fresh air. Aline Penhallow stood on the front steps, wearing a dark pink silk jacket that almost matched the circles under her eyes. "I need to talk to you," she said, without preamble.

Seemingly as surprised as Simon, Clary nodded and held the door open. "All right. Come on in."

"Thanks." Aline pushed past her brusquely and went into the living room. She froze when she saw Simon leaning slouched against the wall and her lips parted in astonishment on seeing Jace and Alec, dark head and golden head bent together, in the corner. Clearly she had not been expecting them all to be there. She faltered, looking anxious. Turning to Clary she said "Look, I have something I want to tell you and Alec and Jace…" The implication of not wanting to speak in front of a vampire was obvious and, even with everything else that was going on, it still smarted a little.

Simon grinned as Clary joined him leaning against the wall and frowned at Aline. "Anything you have to say, you can say to all of us."

Aline glanced at the sleeping Max.

"It's alright, he sleeps like the dead."

Aline bit her lip. "Fine." Alec and Jace hadn't moved but Simon could tell they were listening. "My parents had to tell Sebastian's aunt in Paris what he did. She was really upset."

Simon resisted the urge to snort and instead settled for pointing out "As one would be if one's nephew turned out to be an evil mastermind."

Aline shot him a dark look. Possibly that had been insensitive. "She said it was completely unlike him, that there must be some mistake. So she sent me some photos of him." Aline reached into her pocket and drew out several slightly bent photographs, which she handed to Clary. "Look."

Simon looked and was aware of Jace and Alec, who had moved from their corner, leaning over his shoulder. The photographs showed a laughing dark-haired boy, Simon supposed he was handsome in an off-kilter sort of way, with a crooked grin and a slightly-too-big nose. He looked like the sort of boy it would be fun to hang out with – the kind of guy you might geek out with in a comic shop, or who might audition for Eric's band. He also looked nothing at all like Sebastian.

" _This_ is your cousin?" Clary asked.

"That's Sebastian Verlac. Which means – "

"That the boy who was here, who was calling himself Sebastian, is someone else entirely?" Clary riffled through the photos with increasing agitation.

"I thought –" Aline was worrying her lip again. "I thought that if you knew Sebastian – or whoever that boy was – wasn't really my cousin, maybe you'd forgive me. Forgive _us._ " She looked appealingly at Jace and Alec. "I'm so sorry about Isabelle. She saved my life, and I – I just ran away. Maybe if I'd stayed she wouldn't be—" She broke off, as though she knew saying 'gone' out loud would be too painful for them to hear, in spite of the fact that none of them had thought of anything else since arriving back at the Accords Hall before dawn.

"I don't think you could have stopped Sebastian – or whoever he was. I don't think anyone could." Clary told the other girl gently and Simon knew she was remembering, as he was, the way the-Sebastian-who-was-not-actually-Sebastian had tossed Jace through the air as though he were a rag doll.

"No one blames you or your family for what happened." Alec added. His voice was raspy with sleep deprivation, arguing and possibly also the after-effects of being strangled by her not-cousin, but he shot Aline a genuine, albeit small, smile. _Well,_ thought Simon, _there's an unexpected friendship._

"Your mother –" Aline began.

Alec winced and Simon was sure he was thinking of Maryse shrieking at Jia Penhallow that the boy they'd brought into their house had done this, their cousin, and if he was so closely allied with Valentine, what did that say about them?

"My mother blames herself." Alec told Aline wearily. "She's just taking it out on everyone else."

"Besides," Clary interjected, "this is bigger than that. The Clave will want to know that Sebastian wasn't just some misguided Shadowhunter kid. Valentine sent him here deliberately.

"He was just so convincing," Aline said. "He knew things only my family knows. He knew things from our childhood – "

"Valentine is convincing." Jace stated dully. Simon jumped – he had forgotten Jace was there, would have expected the other boy to speak before now.

"It kind of makes you wonder," he put in, voicing a thought that had been niggling at him ever since Aline got the photos of the friendly boy out, "what happened to the real Sebastian. Your cousin. It sounds like he left Paris, headed to Idris, and never actually got here. So what happened to him on the way?"

Clary and Jace answered simultaneously "Valentine happened." They exchanged a bleak glance and Simon resignedly acknowledged that it was not a good moment to mock their synchronisation.

Clary continued. "He must have planned it all and known where Sebastian would be and how to intercept him on the way. And if he did that with Sebastian –"

"Then there may be others," said Aline. "You should tell the Clave. Tell Lucian Graymark." She caught Clary's surprised look. "People listen to him. My parents said so."

Alec nodded. "We will. Thank you Aline."

"I just hope it helps you find Isabelle, though I don't see how it can. If there's anything I can do…"

"Thank you." Alec repeated sincerely.

After Aline had shown herself out, Alec and Jace both sank back down onto the armchair, sitting on either arm with their feet resting on the seat. It was the kind of position that would have made adults cringe, not, Simon mused, that that was really relevant right now.

"This does explain one thing," Jace said, after a pregnant pause as everyone tried to process what Aline had told them. "After tracking Izzy failed - presumably because Valentine's put some sort of block on her so that our runes don't work - Magnus was trying to see if he could use a tracking rune on any of the things Sebastian had left in his room, to see if we could locate him that way. He said he wasn't getting much of a reading on anything we gave him. Just…flat."

"What does that mean?"

"They were Sebastian Verlac's things. The fake Sebastian probably took them whenever he intercepted him. And Magnus isn't getting anything from them because the real Sebastian – "

"Is probably dead," finished Alec, voicing what Simon was pretty sure they were all thinking, but which no one had wanted to spell out with Aline in the room. "And the Sebastian we know is too smart to leave anything behind that could be used to track him. I mean, you can't track somebody from just anything. It has to be an object that's in some way very connected to that person. A family heirloom, or a stele, or a brush with some hair in it, something like that."

It was a shame, thought Simon, that the fake Sebastian had not been more careless with his hairdressing equipment. It would have solved a lot of their problems. Then he wondered exactly when his life had become this weird.

"Which is too bad," Jace echoed Simon's train of thought as he abruptly stood up and began to pace, "because if we could follow him, he'd probably lead us straight to Valentine. I'm sure he's scuttled back to his master with a full report. Probably told him all about Hodge's crackpot mirror-lake theory."

"It might not have been crackpot," Alec said. "They've stationed guards at the paths that go to the lake, and set up wards that will warn them if anyone Portals there."

"Fantastic. I'm sure we all feel very safe now." The sarcasm grated on Simon's already frayed nerves even though he knew it was just a front of false bravado to cover up the other boy's very real fear for his sister and whatever else it was that he and Clary knew but refused to share with the rest of them. Mercifully, Jace had stopped pacing and leaned back against the wall beside Clary. He placed his hand right next to hers, seemingly unconsciously, absently glancing down after the fact and looking distantly surprised at what he'd done. Then with a sudden sharp intake of breath he took her wrist in his hand. "There's blood on your sleeve. Are you hurt?"

Simon moved closer and looking down saw that Jace was right – there was an irregular scarlet stain on the right sleeve of her coat. It was strangely bright red and didn't look like dried blood – Simon should know, after all – which was a darker colour. It was undeniably blood, however, the scent told him that. Yet in spite of his hunger it didn't appeal to him at all – if anything, it was making him feel queasy. It smelt like blood but...not; wrong, somehow.

"That's not my blood."

Jace relaxed slightly, his grip on Clary's wrist loosening. "Do you know whose it is?"

"I actually think it's Sebastian's."

" _Sebastian's_ blood?"

"Yes – when he came into the Hall the other night, remember, his wrist was bleeding. I think Isabelle must have whipped him, but anyway – I touched his wrist and got his blood on me." She bent her head to look more closely at it. "I thought Amatis washed the coat, but I guess she didn't."

Jace held Clary's wrist for a long moment, examining the blood, before returning her arm to her, apparently satisfied. "Thanks." He said, cryptically.

Simon stared at him. So did Clary. She shook her head. "You're not going to tell me what that was about, are you?"

"Not a chance," replied Jace, with a smirk that didn't meet his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and hurried from the room. For a long second the three of them stared after him, then at each other, taken aback by the sudden, unexplained departure.

Alec was the first to regain his senses. With a muted groan of exasperation, he jumped down from his perch on the arm of the chair and rushed after his parabatai. Simon heard him mutter "Angel, I _hate it_ when he does this," before the echo of his running footsteps faded away too.

Simon and Clary stared at each other. Clary looked as though she were repressing the urge to scream with annoyance, while Simon abruptly realised his mouth was hanging open rather gormlessly and snapped it shut. Sinking into the vacated armchair he patted the space beside him – it was a rather large armchair – and she plopped down next to him with a frustrated exhale, looking defeated.

"Do you ever feel," he asked her tentatively, only half-joking "like this can't possibly be real. Like we've fallen into a film or a book or something."

Clary laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "All the stories are true," she quoted, sounding half-mocking. She closed her eyes, as though the last few days were suddenly catching up with her all at once. "But seriously, if it was a film there would be more light-hearted bits and the plot twists would be less repetitive."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm watching the plot of 'Star Wars' unfold before my eyes, except over and over again. You know, like the DVD's scratched and we're condemned to watch Darth Vader go "I am your father" on repeat…"

"Except in 'Star Wars' they had the fairly glaringly obvious clue that his surname meant 'Father' in German – probably should have been their first heads up. Whereas 'Morgenstern' – I mean, according to Jace it basically means 'Lucifer', also in German, which maybe should have put Maryse and my mom off screwing him; but it couldn't really have helped us... Besides, if the DVD was stuck on repeat you'd be able to switch it off. We can't switch this off…" She sounded worn and bitter and quite unlike Clary. Simon reached out and slung an arm around her shoulders with affectionate carelessness. She leaned into him and said softly, "I used to want to be Leia when we were kids, do you remember?"

"Yeah and you used to get really mad when I said you couldn't be because you had red hair." Simon tugged on a strand of said hair fondly.

"I don't want to be Leia anymore," Clary whispered. "I used to wish for my father back too, and I always wanted a brother. Be careful what you wish for, huh?" She laughed self-deprecatingly but Simon didn't join in. It was a very grim sort of funny. "I wish you were my brother, Simon," she added, very softly. A month ago, those words would have gone through his heart like physical pain, now he just sighed and pulled her in for a proper hug. "Yeah, I know," he murmured into the top of her ginger head. He wasn't sure what he could say to make this better. He couldn't stop Jace being her brother, however willing he might be to trade places if such a thing was possible. It wasn't even that simple anymore. Yesterday, if someone had told him he could be Clary's brother, instead of Jace, he would have agreed without a second thought, but now…Now Isabelle had been brought into the equation. Imagining being Izzy's brother made him want to be sick.

Looking for something positive to say to Clary he offered, "At least you've got a sister, though. I mean, I know it was a bit of a shock to discover another sibling you didn't know you had, but Izzy's cool, right?"

"Yeah," Clary sighed, leaning her head against his chest. "But it'd be cooler if she was here to freak out about this with, rather than being held captive God knows where by our wannabe evil overlord of a father."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 **Trigger Warnings: references to violence, references to childhood emotional abuse**

The door to the room he had been sharing with Alec bounced off its hinges as Jace flung it open, hurrying to the shelf where he had put his weapons. He shoved a couple of extra seraph blades into his belt, just in case, and deliberated for a moment before choosing a short dagger and sliding that into the sheath on his wrist. As an afterthought he coiled Izzy's whip and placed that in his belt too – she would want it when he found her.

He cursed as he realised he hadn't replaced the stele Clary had lost. He didn't have time to try to find a replacement now, so he 'borrowed' Alec's, pushing down the twinge of guilt with the thought that Alec could always get a new one; although this did little to quash the feeling that he was betraying his parabatai's trust – not by taking his stele (it wasn't like Alec would mind) but by leaving without telling him where he was going or what he was doing…It didn't matter. He was doing this for Alec. For Alec and Izzy _and Max and Maryse and Clary and – screw it – even Simon,_ he told himself. He was going to get Izzy back. And he was going to kill Valentine: to try to atone for staying his hand back at Renwick's, for what his father had done and would do to Downworld and the Nephilim, for what he had done to Izzy, for what he had done to Clary; and for what he had done to Jace.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Jace, who, distracted, had not heard anyone approach, whirled with a seraph blade already in his hand.

Alec, looking rather miffed at being almost skewered by his angelic sword wielding parabatai, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hi Jace, nice to see you too."

Jace lowered the blade, caught in a strange place between apologetic, amused and annoyed. "If you don't want to become a Shadowhunter shish-kebab you shouldn't sneak up on people with weapons."

"I didn't sneak up on you!" retorted Alec, indignant. "I followed you to _our_ bedroom – which we share, by the way – because you ran out of the room in the middle of a conversation. And also, in my defence, I – not unreasonably, I might add – did not expect you to be holding a large seraph blade because we are, you know, in a house and not under attack."

"You should be intimately acquainted with my seraph blade holding ways by now Alec." Jace shot back flippantly, not hearing the innuendo until the other boy choked.

Smirking, Jace perched on the edge of the bed in order to retie his boots. Alec, somewhat recovered, frowned – his brow furrowing. "Are you going somewhere?"

"For a walk," the younger boy replied airily. "I need to get out of here for a bit, clear my head. We're going round and round in circles."

Alec looked suspicious. "Last time you told us you were going for a walk we didn't see you for six hours, during which time the city was besieged by a demon army."

"As I told you at the time: it was a long walk." He stood up to leave but could tell, with a slight sinking feeling that mingled with affection at how much his parabatai cared, that Alec wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"Jace, seriously, what's going on? If you're just going for a walk, why are you heavily armed?" He gestured to Jace's laden weapons belt.

"Well, like you said, last time I went for a walk we were attacked by demons, so…" He moved to pass his parabatai, but Alec caught his wrist.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, or what you think you're doing; but I trust you." Jace felt something hard and sharp lodge itself in his throat. Alec lowered his voice, "Jace, I need you to promise that you're not going to do anything stupid, okay?"

Jace swallowed hard but the lump seemed to have taken up permanent residence. "When have I ever done anything stupid?" He tried to inject lightness into his tone. From the way Alec's eyes remained intense and serious he suspected the attempt had fallen flat.

"Jace."

"Like what, Alec?"

"Like going off after Valentine on your own!" the other boy burst out harshly and Jace had to repress a flinch. "We're parabatai, Jace. I want Izzy back just as much as you do, but I won't lose you in the process. Your life is not less important to me than hers and I will not let you risk yourself without me."

Jace couldn't bring himself to meet Alec's eyes when he nodded.

"Swear on the Angel, Jace."

"I swear." The lie burned his throat but his voice was steady.

Seemingly satisfied, Alec released his wrist and Jace hastily left the room. The Angel could smite him down for his reneging on his word for all he cared – it wasn't like someone with demon blood was going anywhere but Hell anyway.

It was lying to Alec that hurt – an ache in his chest that seemed to be concentrated around his parabatai rune. Jace never lied – it was one of the few things he respected about himself. It had never been in his nature and after discovering that his and Clary's - and now Isabelle's too – whole childhoods had been based on a web of omissions, misleading information, dishonesty and barefaced lies, he had become even more averse to not telling the truth – having seen the damage it could do.

But sometimes you lied to protect people. Sometimes you lied because you loved them. Jace had never believed in his father's absolute morals and it wasn't like Valentine had followed his own strict teachings – Jace had, after all, been raised believing he was Michael Wayland's son. Sometimes lying was the only choice you had; but the excuse sounded flawed and hollow even to his own ears. It sounded like the sort of justification Jocelyn – he could never think of her as his mother – would use for what she had done to Clary.

 _Oh well,_ thought Jace grimly, _demons lie._


End file.
